Slip Away
by Wicked Wonder
Summary: Some secrets you shouldn't keep... Very dark Shawn story
1. Drop

Boy Meets World

"Slip Away"

Series/ Sequel: Not yet

Summary: Some secrets you shouldn't keep...

Rating: R for strong (Altoids Sour strong) themes, mild language

Note: Yes, I realize that everyone and their mother have written/ attempted to write a "Shawn gets hurt" story. I may not be original, but I'm honest when I say that I had to write this.  Warning- this is a story containing abuse, self- mutilation, and attempted suicide. In short, this is heavy on the angst. 

Setting: Fifth season, or during the gang's senior year at John Adams High. For those of you keeping track, this is right before graduation. And as usual, I bent the facts to suit my own selfish needs. 

Feedback: Please? With Jack and Eric on top? Vixxxen@rocketmail.com

Disclaimer: They're not mine, blah blah blah Disneycakes. The doctors mentioned, the Petersons, and the Heaths are mine.

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Chapter One- Drop (Cory's POV)

   "And so class, we end our discussion about the Revolutionary War by stating that although..."

   I tried to stifle a yawn by faking a cough. Topanga shot me a look as she straightened up in her seat.

   "That concludes this class. Please read chapters 4 and 5 tonight."

   The bell rang and my friends and I rose and headed for the door.

   "Mr Matthews, may I speak to you for a moment?"

   I stopped and turned back to Mr Feeny. "What? Shawn and I didn't do it, I promise!" I blurted out.

   "It's nothing like that. Please sit down." Mr Feeny was wearing his 'I'm concerned and caring' face. Which was better than the 'you have really screwed up this time' face any day, in my book. I cautiously took a seat at one of the front desks.

   "Has Shawn said anything to you?" he said without preamble.

   I cocked my head to one side. "About what, Mr Feeny?"

  "His father."

   "No, I can't say that we've had any conversations about his father," I said warily. As much as I trusted Mr Feeny, I didn't want to talk about my best friend behind his back.

   Mr Feeny looked mildly surprised. "Well, I suggest that you boys have a talk tonight. You can go now."

   Confused, I walked out of the classroom to find my friends waiting. "What did you do this time?" Topanga demanded.

   I was about to tell her what Mr Feeny had said, but I thought better of it and said, "Nothing serious. Are we going to Chubbies or what?"

   Later, when we were sitting in our favorite hangout, I mentioned that I had gotten my acceptance letter to Pennbrooke.

   "Slacker! I started getting letters back in October." Topanga sat back in the booth and looked smug.

   I let that comment pass by and turned to Shawn, who had been unusually quiet. "Everything okay, Shawny?"

   "Fine Cor," he said, waving his hand in a dismissal.

   The girls started talking about the different colleges that had accepted them. I tuned them out and asked Shawn again, "Are you sure everything's fine? I can listen, you know."

   Shawn raised an eyebrow at me, but merely said, "I'll come by later, okay?"

   "All right."

   After that, we walked the girls home. When we finally got to my house, I told Shawn, "Come up to my room. Want something to eat?"

   "We just got done eating!"

   "What can I say? I'm a growing boy." I walked into the kitchen, greeted my mother and father, grabbed an apple, and went upstairs, where Shawn was sitting on my bed.

   "Okay, so, what's up?" I plopped on the bed next to him.

   He sighed and said, "My dad got another job."

   "Wouldn't that be good news? I mean, I guess it would depend on the job." I realized that my input wasn't necessary and shut up.

   "And they're making him go to this mandatory workshop for two months. It's in Boston."

   I stiffened. "You're not moving there, are you?"

   "Not if I can help it. No, that's not even the worst problem. Because of the... problems that he had, DCFS is... makingmegotoafosterhome," he finished in a rush.

  "Wait. Did you say foster home? But you're almost eighteen!"

  "Not until July. In order for me to finish the year at John Adams... well, it's a big mess."

  "Could you stay with us?" I said hopefully. As I said that, though, I realized that because of how the store was doing, my dad didn't need another mouth to feed.

  "Cor, you know I can't. But I really don't want to stay with another foster family."

  "I had forgotten about the Heaths. How old were you, ten?"

  "Yeah." Shawn sighed heavily and stated, "I would run away, but I'm so close to graduation."

  "Well, Shawn, you know I'm here for you." I slugged him on the shoulder lightly.

  "I know." He slugged me back. "Well, I'm going tomorrow, so I need to pack a few items."

  "Tomorrow! Why so fast?"

  "My dad's leaving tomorrow. The thing is, they told me that I would 'age out' of foster care before he gets back, so really, I'm only looking at being there for a month. And I can survive a month, right?"

  "Sure!" I said with heartiness that I didn't feel. "You'll do great."

  "Okay. See you, Cory."

  I walked Shawn downstairs. As he walked down the street, I couldn't help but wonder what would happen to him over the next month.

Next Chapter- Fall


	2. Break and Shatter

Chapter Two- Break and Shatter

(Shawn's POV)

"It's only for a month, son." As you look for the things that you want to take with you, your dad is sitting in his usual seat, watching you. He's trying not to be upset, but you can tell that he doesn't like the situation any more than you do.

"I still don't see why I just can't stay here alone," you say for what must be the thousandth time.

"I don't know either. But at least you'll have your friends here."

You smile at the effort your dad is making. "Thank you."

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After school the next day, the social worker, Ms O'Brien, picks you up and takes you to the Petersons' where you will be staying. She assures you that they are 'nice people', and that you will enjoy your stay there. You snort softly.

"Did you say something?" she asks.

"No."

You pull up to the house, an unassuming two story. You grab your duffel and trudge to the porch. A middle- aged woman answers the door. "You must be Shawn. I'm Mrs Peterson, but most of the kids call me Mrs P."

A smart comment jumps into your head, but instead of saying it, you follow her into the house. From what you can see of it, it looks sunny and inviting, but you still have an uneasy feeling about it. 

"Why don't you take your things to your bedroom? Upstairs, first door you come to."

You walk up the stairs slowly, trying to hear what the social worker was saying about you. You hear little snatches of words that don't make sense out of context. You finally go up to the bedroom, noting the lack of furniture in the room other than the bed and a dresser. You set the duffel on the full-size bed and go back downstairs.

"Shawn, you're all set. See you in a month." Mrs O'Brien walks out to the car and drives off. You turn to face Mrs P, who is setting out a plate of cookies.

"I was thinking that you might like a snack before dinner. Most boys do."

You thank her as she hands you a glass of milk.

"It's fine. Why don't you tell me a little about yourself."

You talk a bit about school and friends in between bites of the cookies. They are chocolate chip with nuts, and really good.

"Well, before Mr P gets in, I wanted to tell you a little bit about how we do things around here."

You sat back in your seat and wait.

"We're not too strict about curfews and such, as long as we know where you are. Dinner's at 7:30, but if you want to eat with your friends, we understand."

"Will you want me to do chores?"

"You'll be expected to keep your room clean, to do dishes and things, but nothing too strenuous."

This is sounding a little too good to be true, but you let it pass.

"Most of the children who come here are older, so we have to be flexible, you know?" Mrs P takes the empty plate and glass over to the sink. "Do you have any questions?"

You shook your head and get up from the table. "Is it all right if I start on my homework?"

"Sure. If you want, you can work here."

You go back upstairs, grab your books and make yourself comfortable at the table. As you go over history and science, Mrs P starts on dinner. You both work in silence until you hear heavy footsteps. You look up and see a man not physically dissimilar from your father- heavy and imposing. For some reason, a frisson of fear runs across your back, but you don't know why.

"Hello! You must be Shawn!" he booms.

You stand up and shake hands with Mr Peterson. "Nice to meet you," you say politely.

"Kid has some manners! Nice change! I can see that we'll get along nicely."

Something about that makes you feel... uncomfortable, but you turn your attention back to your homework.

Dinner is a quiet affair; Mr and Mrs P make small talk, but really focus on their food, like it's the last time that they'll eat for this week. The food isn't bad, but you don't have much of an appetite. A voice inside your head cautions, 'If you eat too much, you'll be sick later..." but before you can remember where you heard that phrase before, dinner is over.

After dinner, you call Angela, who's mellow, as usual, and Cory, who's extremely hyper. You don't feel like seeing either one of them today, so you tell them that you'll see them in school and go upstairs to 'your' bedroom. As you get ready for bed, you note the lack of a lock on the door. You frown at this, and then tell yourself that you are being silly and climb into bed.

It takes a long time to go to sleep.

You wake up in the morning on the floor, covers and sheets surrounding you. You vaguely remember a dream of trying to get away from something. Whatever it was, your heart is racing and your body's covered with sweat. And you feel something that you haven't felt for a while but still can recall it- a pain in your torso. The pain spreads itself across your stomach and spreads slowly to your arms and legs. For a moment, you sit there, stunned by the whips that seem to be snaking themselves inside your skin. 

After you gather your wits enough to get up, you throw the covers back onto the bed and walked with your toiletries to the shower. Sleep for the night is over.

Once the water's running as hot as you can get it, you strip and get in, surprised that there's not a visible mark anywhere on your skin, although you can feel pain still radiating from your belly. As the shower continues, turning your skin redder and redder, the pain intensifies, making you almost quiver with the effort not to scream aloud. The voices in your head also grow louder, not with specific words but...  the longer you listen, the more effort it takes for you not to cry.

Finally you reach in the bag that you carried into the bathroom and extract a small case. You haven't needed this for so long, but you kept it just in case. Inside are some scissors that your mother gave you a long time ago. You can't remember why she gave you such a sharp pair at a young age, but you've always kept them- and used them only for one thing.

You trace a line on your left arm. It's pink, faded and stretched with time. Cory asked you once how you got it, and you made up some story about falling off a bike. But it's too perfect a scar to have come from that.

You trace the line again, with the scissors. The blood wells up almost immeadiately, and drips onto the shower mat, but you don't notice. You are transfixed by the sudden silence in your head, and the pain on your arm made the pain inside go away.

Later, on the way to school, Cory asks you why you're wearing a flannel shirt over your usual t-shirt on a sunny day in May.

"Fashion statement, Cor," you say. "I'm one of the disaffected youth of America."

"How was last night?" he asks.

"Fine. I'll be alright."

You go up the stairs to face another day.

Next Chapter: Pieces (Cory's POV)


	3. Pieces

A/N: Sorry for the delay on this chapter. As I explained on my bio, when I get happy, my angsty stories suffer for it. Well, my sister's happy with me, I'm working, and my life doesn't suck anymore, which made this story extremely hard to finish. But finish I must... and I promise to update on my other stories soon. Without further delay...

Chapter 3- Pieces

(Cory's POV)

When I met Shawn on the way to school, I asked him why he was wearing a flannel shirt over his usual t- shirt. It was only May, and it already felt like August.

"Fashion statement, Cor," he said. "I'm one of the disaffected youth of America."

"How was last night?" I asked.

"Fine. I'll be alright."

I had already talked to Topanga that morning. We had met to talk about what to do to celebrate graduation. I had mentioned in passing that Shawn seemed a little down to me on the phone last night, and she suggested that I invite him to do something in her words, that was a 'guy activity.'

So I asked Shawn to go play some pool with me, just like we used to. He agreed.

At Chubbies, we got our usual pool table and started racking them up. I noticed how Shawn carefully kept his flannel buttoned, even though the a/c was acting up in here. My shirt was sticking to my back, and I tried in vain to find a cool spot in the place.

"How are you staying so cool in that heavy shirt? I need to learn your secret," I joked.

If Shawn heard me, he didn't say anything. He started putting chalk on his cue and staring fixedly at the table.

"Shawn? Is everything okay?"

He looked up at me, and I noticed just how tired he looked. "Yep, Cor. Everything's good. Stripes or solids?"

"Stripes, always," I said. "Want me to break?"

"Be my guest."

We played a fast game silently. I won, only because Shawn was not paying any attention to the game. I wanted to ask him if he was sure that he was all right, but I knew from experience that it would just piss him off.

"Ready to call it a night?" I asked, as we put up the cues.

"Yeah." 

We walked down the street, feeling the oppressive heat and humidity press down on us. Shawn stopped at a big brick house. "This is my stop. See you tomorrow."

"Okay." I watched as he went into the house. He turned around before he opened the door, and I thought he was going to say something, but he just closed the door.

When I got inside the door, my mother was sitting on the couch with Morgan and two of her friends. "That's my brother," Morgan said to them. "The weird one."

"His hair is weird," one of the girls agreed.

"I'll be up in my room," I informed my mother.

"Topanga called!" she shouted, as I ran up the steps.

I got in my room and called Topanga back. "Hey, I just got in. What's up?"

"I was just seeing how your evening went."

"I've had more fun getting my teeth cleaned," I said. "We barely talked the whole evening."

"Maybe he just didn't feel like talking tonight. At his most talkative, though..."

"He still doesn't say much," I finished. "Okay, point taken. I just feel, I don't know, like something's wrong."

"If it is, he'll probably tell you. Well, my mom is yelling at me to get off the phone. 'Night, Cory."

"Night, Topanga."

I hung up the phone and lay back on my bed, lost in thought. Despite what Topanga said, I knew that Shawn was acting strangely. And he was definitely not going to tell me. I was going to have to find out on my own.

The next two weeks were pretty much the same. Shawn looked thinner and more tired every day. He still was wearing long-sleeved shirts to school every day, even though the weather just got hotter and more humid. One day, he came to school popping aspirin. "Headache. Won't go away," he explained briefly when I questioned him.

The whole day passed slowly. Even Feeny didn't feel like lecturing, so he let us pair into study groups outside. The heat was oppressive, and even sitting in shade didn't help.

Shawn and I were sitting together silently, not studying but not goofing off either. "Hey, Cor," he said abruptly, "Do you want to study later today, at the trailer?"

I was taken aback at the suddenness of the request, but I said, "All right," and continued to zone out.

Later, we got to the trailer, which had been closed up. Shawn opened the door and left it open to air out the place. We went over to the table and spread out our books and read about the American Revolution. Finally Shawn pushed his book away and said abruptly, "I need to tell you something."

"Okay, shoot."

"I... I... no, this was a mistake." Shawn stood up. "I'm sorry, Cory." He went into one of the back rooms of the trailer.

I sat there out of indecision for a moment, debating whether to follow him or to go home. I was about to leave when something stopped me. It was if a hand had pushed me back into where Shawn was. 

I slowly turned the knob of the door, softly calling Shawn. When he didn't answer, I slowly pushed the door open. The sight that greeted me I'll never forget...

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Sorry for the last cliffhanger. All will be revealed in the next (and last) chapter, Unite. Cheers!


	4. Unite

A/N: Thank you for all of your kind support of this series. This hasn't been the easiest thing in the world to write, and I'm still much too happy, but I must continue. For those of you who don't know, aspirin is a blood thinner. That means if you get a cut (or cut yourself) while there's aspirin in your system, and the cut is deep enough, you can bleed- a lot. Also, I'm not a psychologist and the information within might not be accurate. And on that note...

Chapter 4- Unite

Cory and Shawn's POV (it switches)

Cory stopped dead in his tracks as he stared into the bathroom. His best friend was slumped on the floor, surrounded by blood. Without thinking, he went over to Shawn and shook him roughly.

'Shawn!" he pleaded. "Come on!" 

He finally gathered his wits enough to call 911. As he waited on the sirens, he looked at Shawn's arm closely. The long gash on his arm was the same one that Cory remembered Shawn telling him about when they were younger. He had said something about a bike accident, and Cory had accepted the explanation. But now...

There was a loud knock on the door. Cory ran to the door and opened it up. "He's in the bathroom," he said. The paramedics rushed past him. Minutes later, Shawn was on a stretcher, and being loaded into the ambulance.

"You coming, kid?" One of them called out.

"No... no."

"Okay. We're on our way to County General." They shut the door and drove off while Cory watched them take his best friend away.

***

Later, Cory came to visit Shawn in the hospital. Shawn noticed him when he was still at the nurses' station. He pretended to be asleep when Cory walked into the room.

"Hey, Shawn," Cory said softly. "Um... I know that you might not want to talk to me right now, but when you do, call me, okay? The doctor said that you'd be released today. He asked me what happened." Cory swallowed audibly. "I told him I didn't know what happened, that I just found you like that. But... that cut... you told me that you had fallen off a bike onto gravel. I know it's not my business..." Cory seemed to want to say more. Instead he walked out of the room, missing the muffled sob that issued from Shawn's throat.

***

Shawn was back in school, just in time for finals. Cory was trying to take extra good care of his friend, and for the most part, Shawn was letting him. They started talking again, but never brought up that day, until...

"I have to leave early," Shawn said abruptly. At the moment, they were at Cory's house, studying for their math final.

"What's up?" Cory asked, his mouth full of the apple he was munching.

"After I got out of the hospital, my social worker told me that I have to see a psychologist, and my appointment's today."

"Oh."

"So anyway, I have to leave in fifteen minutes. Sorry."

"It's okay," Cory said rapidly. "I'm almost done studying anyway."

"Can... can I come and talk to you after I'm finished?"

"Sure. I'll be here."

***

"Did you have the nightmare again?"

"Yeah," Shawn said wearily.

"Did you use the technique I told you about?"

"The free-writing? Yeah." Shawn pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. "Do you want me to read it to you?"

"If you like."

"Okay. It doesn't say much, though."

"Well, why don't you read it and then we can look at the words you used."

"Dark, no, bad." Shawn stopped reading and looked over at the other person. "I think... I think I remember."

_It started when he was ten. His father, although trying the best he could for his young son, ended up in trouble and the child was removed from the home temporarily. He was placed with foster parents, the Heaths. The mother was meek and mild, and never said anything unless spoken to. The father was a bear, loudmouthed and boisterous, and very frightening to the young child. The first night, the child was fed well, and put in a bedroom with only a dresser and a bed. He was told to sleep well. The next night, while he lay in bed, a person came into the dark bedroom. "You want to be a good boy, don't you? You don't want to be bad..."_

_Horrible, unspeakable things were done to the boy that night. He was sick, and the man was incensed. "I told you to be a good boy! You will be punished for that."_

_And he was. The boy was beaten severely and food was withheld. The boy soon learned not to eat a lot at dinner, because he would be sick later with a full stomach. The assaults happened nightly, and the boy could tell no one, because no one would believe a child who was so bad that he had to be taken away from his father._

_In time, the father got straightened out and reclaimed his child. He asked the child if he was all right, and the child answered yes. By that time, the horrors of what had happened had been pushed to the back of the child's mind, only to resurface in nightmares..._

"I... didn't remember that before. Why now?"

"Shawn, you repressed the memory. It was always inside you. When you were placed in a situation where you felt threatened, your subconscious produced those memories in the form of dreams. And when your dreams were more threatening than reality, then you turned to self-mutilation to express the pain that you didn't know why you were feeling."

"How do I stop?" he whispered.

"It won't be easy. But I believe that you really want to get help, even though you were resistant at first. Tell you what. In addition to these meetings, I would like you to attend a group that meets on Saturday mornings. It's for adult survivors of sexual assault. You might benefit from hearing the other peoples' stories."

"Okay."

Two months later...

"We're really about to leave!" Cory and Shawn were in Chubbies, wanting to spend time in their favorite hangout before they went to college.

"I know. We're starting a whole new chapter in our lives," Shawn mused. He was fiddling with the straw wrapper. Suddenly he looked up from the small ball he had made and said, "I'm still coming to group after we leave."

"How's that going for you?" Shawn had told Cory a little about what had happened, but not all of it. He figured that one day, he would tell Cory the real reason that three months ago had been one of the hardest things he had gone through.

"It's good. I feel more... hopeful. That I'll be able to move past this."

"Good," Cory echoed. Then he stood up. "Ready to go?"

"Yeah." They walked together into the golden day.

END

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Again, thank you for your support of this series. For the person who said that this could help people... I hope so. If you need someone to talk to, there are a lot of sources for help out there. And find someone you trust- parents, teacher, minister, anyone you feel comfortable with- and talk to them! If you have any questions, feel free to e-mail me. Until next time...


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